The honk outside your house is a familiar signal, a reminder of the ridiculous arrangement you’ve somehow found yourself in: Your girlfriend (or at least, the person everyone thinks is your girlfriend) is here to pick you up, like every morning. You grab your bag and head out the door, stomach twisting for reasons you still refuse to acknowledge.

Shauna is leaning over the center console of her car, window rolled down, and smiles in greeting. You slide into the passenger seat as she says: “Morning, love!”

Your brain short-circuits, but you have no time to process it. Shauna taps her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently, completely unfazed. “You ready?” she asks once you’re settled. “We’ve got a whole day to plan out!”

Right.

That’s why you’re here. That’s why she’s here. That’s why you’re doing this. The whole point of it was to sell the act, to make Jackie, the team, everyone believe you were a couple.

“Right,” you say. “So, what’s the plan? Handholding?” you pause, wiggling your brows exaggeratedly: “Lingering looks…?”

Shauna chuckles and throws the car into drive. “Maybe a kiss on the cheek for realism?” she plays along.

Shauna says it like a joke, but these days, you’re finding it harder and harder to tell what’s real and what’s for show. And if Shauna knows where the line is, she certainly isn’t in a rush to draw it.